Daybreak and Fairy Dust
by SpaceMutie
Summary: A sequel to Passing into the Night. Steve and Loki get some time together again, Thor learns of The Fall, and there's more nostalgia than a person can have in one sitting. Steve/Loki/Thor


**Author's Note: Heyo friends, I've gotten a ton of great feedback for Passing into the Night, and I wanted to add some more little bits to the end of it to maybe open up an old story that everyone seemed to like so much. This will be one of a few one-shots that I'll put up here, and, hopefully, they peak your interests. Happy reading!**

 **XXX**

As every night comes to an end, so does the morning begin its eventual swallowing of the stars, pulling those little balls of light together into a glowing sphere that broke the darkness into red, yellow, blue, and pink. Unlike the evening hours, daytime holds firmness to it; morning and noon and afternoon glitter on in endless splendor, without a care to their name. The wounds heal, the flowers open again. What once _is_ becomes a _was._ Years pass.

For him, nearly a century.

That weight room, full of things that made perfect sense, heaviness that he _knew_ , remained constant. No one came in there anymore, not when they had gyms to attend to. Everything blinked or buzzed or chimed now, and it made his head ache in confusion. Missing years upon years of developing human beings made each and every day an overwhelming mess of unnecessary noise. One eventually grows tired of being surprised of it all. Like the small child of old, he must make a hasty retreat back to the familiar.

The bag **slammed,** _swuuuuung_ back, and **slammed** again, in clockwork precision that Steve Rogers never could have possessed in earlier memory. Something about the serum commanded absolute balance, an inner clock that required patterns in order to sate the beast within. Sweat dribbled off of his body in excess, and he only pressed harder into the material. _He owed a pretty girl a dance, he owed a German scientist his entire life, and he owed the world a_ _ **goddamn**_ _explanation for why he still tried so hard to make it. The debts needed to stop somewhere. The sounds needed to_ _ **stop!**_

Sand hit the floor, so did his knees. In the haze of blood throbbing in his head, he swears they make the same sound: of particles crumbling into dust. The substance loved to get in his slick hair, sticking to his forehead and sweaty fists like fairy dust. Blue eyes decipher the hidden secrets of the cracks in the wall ahead, clutching the cheap innards of the corpse of sandbags as if they would save him from his thoughts. Pfft, ridiculous. No one could do that. He'd been alive for almost a hundred years, according to record. He should be able to at least know that by now.

As it turns out, the day didn't make every inch of him fully whole. Night always took something as it passed over, no matter how little it may be at the time. He'd had too many nights.

"You know, it's rude to sneak up behind someone. If you want to come out and say hello, I wouldn't be averse to being the gentleman." Whoever it may be, he didn't really mind it. Government agents, unlike the sort he used to know, now felt this urge to constantly check on him, to mind his behavior and ensure whomever it was they worked for that he remained in good standings. The walls had eyes, and those eyes were often too shy to introduce themselves. He preferred to treat them like humans rather than disposable agents.

Familiar, the wall answers back, and his veins freeze in ice so cold he doesn't know how long he can withstand it. "I'd rather not. It's odd to think of you as a gentleman." _**Shit.**_ For once, there's nothing to do but sit himself very promptly down on the floor, unsure if his legs would be able to operate right then, or, well, ever again. He couldn't look, he wouldn't. He doesn't want to see anything, he doesn't want anything. _Justmakewhohethoughtitwasgothehellaway_ …

Loki smelled the same as he did before he left, like old books and forest air and the barest tinge of ozone, and nothing much about him changed. Except the things that mattered. Gentle slopes of satin hair grew into a slick mess, every soft bone glowed under pronounced light that appeared to be drawn to him. It's not craziness in those old emerald jewels, that's not quite definitive enough, yet… he couldn't put his finger on the proper descriptor. All he could think of is that, if revenge could pop its knuckles and run its piano fingers over dull teal wallpaper, Loki would fit every proper use of that word.

That's right, memories could change. He'd forgotten that even things from his past still lingered around.

"Whatever took you back, they haven't really been treating you like a prince." He notes with the barest edge of curiosity, putting a hand on his pocket just to have something to do with them besides clench them. He wanted to cry and laugh and sigh at the same time. This is all too funny. The one memory that he tried to put away had managed to escape. Go figure.

Loki does laugh, not a laugh meant for humor. "Whoever decided to take you in really treated you like one, though. I suppose that's what I deserve." The god didn't give him any more than that, and Steven didn't ask him for it. He honestly didn't want to know anymore. Terrible fates were downers of a story. Even from the angle he sat in, looking up at Loki made his muscles jump and his heart do flips in his chest cavity. Somehow, he wouldn't be averse to dying this way. A weary part of him longed to die, if only to let his inhuman streak come to a gentle end.

"Why did you decide to come back?"

"You'll see soon enough. I have some unfinished business."

Steve's eyebrows furrow, clearly not receiving the answer he was looking for. It's fine. Loki did come through on his word for the most part, so he would just have to see for himself like it was promised.

"Whatever it is, I guarantee that I'll end up being one of the ones who's meant to stop you."

Even in that ornate armor and with the cape spilling behind him in the most otherworldly way possible, the villain persona dropped for a moment, aches just about as old as Steve felt welling out into the open. _Regret,_ he thinks to himself, _that's what that word looks like._ And Steve's standing and Loki's leaning down and it's all an incredible mess of human emotions with a hand in his hair, like before, like always. Steve tasted salt on Loki's upper lip. It fit somehow.

"Do not fret. I think that having you and whatever ragtag group of friends you bring along take me out would be the best ending. Good luck, Captain, you're going to need it."

Night passed, day came and went. Steve's mouth tasted like salt and old loves that he could barely remember and still recall in full clarity. And, you know what? He could deal with that.


End file.
